larryhammer | “Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art, / For there thy habitation is the heart”

So a week ago today, we realized that a local cat rescue group had just opened a kitten lounge* near our house—kitties for visiting, potentially available for adoption. Eaglet of course insisted on they had to go Right Now, though given it was closed at the time, the visit had to wait till the next day. There was another on Saturday. Sunday, we came home with one, a 3 1/2 months old standard issue tabby.

Name is still under discussion, though I’m voting for Chowder. His shelter name was Demure,** which he is not—and besides, Eaglet has trouble pronouncing that.

He’s currently segregated from the other cats till they get used to his smell—and guess what, the most viable room for this turned out to be my WFH office. All the cats want through that closed door, to find out who’s hiding on the other side. He’s asleep at the moment on one of the pair of towels we’ve been swapping out daily with the living room. I fully expect squeaky-scratchy meows in a few minutes though.

ETA:

ETA2: Someone is currently between me and my chair back, alternately wrestling with and chewing on my shirttail. Not naming names ...

* Not a cat cafe, though you can purchase drinks/coffee/snacks and hang at a table with your laptop and pretend it is one.
** And yes, there was a sibling named Mindful. No, I hadn’t known the meme.

---L.

Subject quote from the introductory sonnet to The Prisoner of Chillon, The Byron.